Finite Purity
by keviana
Summary: Callen and cyanide. Episode "Purity"... Written for the NCISLAMagazine Challenge.


For the NCISLAMagazine's Callen's Corner Challenge.  
This entry is not eligible for the prize.  
NCIS: Los Angeles and characters belong to CBS and a lot of other people. Not mine.

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

He struggled to take another breath.

Panic flowed through his veins again.

This was a terrible way to go. Callen felt a stab of sympathy for that guy, the first guy in the case. The guy hadn't known what was happening to him. Just sip of water. Another sip. Another. Gone…

He closed his eyes.

_I'm dying._

G felt the ground pulling at him, begging him to fall away from the metal bookshelf to rest on its cold self. He tried to glare down at it, but it only made his head throb worse.

He hurt like death.

_It was too big a dose._

He wanted his heart to sloooooooooow down. It was racing without him. Speeding the cyanide around his system.

His chest hurt.

Bad.

He was too weak to bring his hand up to clutch at it. So he just endured.

_Breathe in. Another breath. Don't throw in the towel yet…_

Was his heart going to stop?

Beat-beat beat-beat beat-beat beat-beat beat-beat—

_Too fast!_

He swallowed hard, forcing his eyes open again. See something. Anything. Just be alive.

_Trapped still._

Alone.

His chest felt like it wasn't getting enough air.

The sounds outside the room had faded away.

The bad guys were gone.

_Gone. _

The bone-rattling tremors started again.

He begged his body to not end him with a seizure.

Quake, yes. No seizure.

He _hated_ seizures.

A body versus its owner… horrible. A body controlling its owner… even worse.

Diabolical, even.

_The city._

The thought sprang out of the depths of the muddy, cloudy, hazy pool of thoughts that spun and sparkled and begged for attention, taking advantage of his dying mind.

The city would be poisoned.

Callen felt cold.

He wanted off of the freezing floor.

His mind whirled, dizzy and full.

Those bastards would poison the city.

Worse than 9-11.

…_Destruction._

Worse than the shootings.

…_Devastating._

Worse than anything he'd stopped to date.

…_Evil brought to light._

All of L.A.

…_Destruction by water._

Water with cyanide.

Starts with a 'c' and ends with an 'e'.

One in the morning. One a.m. One one one one one. Sam needed to know. He needed to know when!

_Sam._

G exhaled in pain, distressed, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to draw up his leg and being unable to.

If the antidote didn't work... Sam…

Not forgivable. Big Guy'd be so pissed.

The echo of Sam begging him to live came back, louder than ever; louder than it had ever sounded before when it haunted him at night. Frustrating loud.

He breathed against it.

Alive. Still alive.

He opened his eyes.

Breathe. Did his lungs sound a touch raspy? He had been coughing at first, but now…

_Damn._

Haven't died yet.

Sam's coming.

He is.

_The kid._

Callen's eyes burned. His chest squeezed.

He had warned Fryman.

"_Once I drink this, you'll never see your son again."_

A tremor worked its way through him again. Dizziness pulled at him, hard. He shut his moist eyes against it.

No. The son-of-a-bitch had listened about as well as most so-called "good" dads.

Callen hitchingly sucked in another ragged breath of air.

_Never…_

Never is a very long time.

_I should know._

_I will never see Mom again._

_I will never see Amy again._

_That poor kid._

A tear escaped.

G tried to grasp at something. Anything. But his hand just twitched, not listening.

He's a foster kid now.

The System. Change. Fear. Unknowns. Ever-proving you're not in control.

_No family. _

Grow, shrink, happy, sad, succeed, fail, live, die: no one cares.

…_Like me._

Callen worked to breathe in, but he struggled.

Maybe there was fluid in his lungs.

Maybe he was drowning.

How much time had passed? Was L.A. already dead? Why wasn't he dead? Shouldn't he be dead by now?

His chest hurt.

More specifically, his heart hurt.

Bad.

If it was going to kill him, it should do it before Sam arrived…

Tremors wrenched through him. He groaned, not meaning to.

_Sam's coming._

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

Sam Hanna's heart beat wildly. He had to find his partner. G was here, here in this building.

_But where? _

Sam carefully and hurriedly moved from safe point to safe point in the warehouse, aiming his weapon, searching for life, movement, something!

This was taking too long.

Every moment might be the one where G Callen breathed his last. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if that moment happened here, over this crazy, cockamamie plan of infiltrating an extremist group.

There wouldn't be enough retribution if Callen died here.

Never.

Sam's only comfort was that Hetty had prepped Callen as much as she could. True, they'd had to leave behind the bulletproof vest, the button cam, even the earwig, but their petite Boss had given Callen a prepped injection of the antidote for the cyanide.

_Just in case._

Earlier, in Ops, Hetty had raised an eyebrow at Sam's dark and pensive look from where she stood in front of his partner. He watched her address G from behind the shorter man.

"_In case you accidently ingest any cyanide, Mister Callen." _Hetty's voice echoed in his mind, while Callen had turned the injection in his hand, probably frowning at it.

Sam had pressed his lips together, reminding Hetty with his eyes that Callen hated needles. G might take dying over injecting himself with anything. Hetty glanced past Callen to shush him with her confidence; _I know what I'm doing,_ she communicated. He had walked away after that, still upset that Callen's plan had them separated for so long.

The chances of something "accidently" happening to his partner were almost guaranteed. Callen was… well, Callen.

And he wasn't Callen's partner for nothing. He was G Callen's death repellant.

Sam looked toward the office area for the warehouse. There were no sounds of any kind. Someone had been here. As he stepped stealthily up the stairs, he hoped that Kensi and Deeks had already found G. If the bad guys had made G…

Sam swallowed hard. He slowly opened the office door, ready for anything.

He was sorely disappointed by an empty office. He went in. Files were stacked everywhere, and the lamps and furniture pushed out of the way for other office supplies. Messy.

The ex-SEAL neared the last door in this place.

Curiously, this door was locked closed. Not a likely place for the bad guys to be hiding out. But, perfect for keeping someone in…

Sam moved soundlessly closer to the door. He held his breath and just listened.

Faint moving sounds emanated from inside the locked room.

Sam took a breath, backed up, and kicked in the door, hoping…

His partner lay on the floor, back propped up against a metal shelving unit. He hadn't looked up at Sam when he kicked in the door—slow reaction time meant something wasn't right—and seemed to be studying his left arm, which had a small bit of blood on it, right over his big, central vein.

Sam cleared the room with quick motions with his gun, then looked down to what was near his shoes: an empty syringe. It was so close to the door and so far away from G that Sam immediately suspected the worst. He also suspected that Callen had tossed the syringe away from him, not happy.

Callen finally looked up at him, his eyes moist and exhausted. "What the hell took you so long?" G's voice was slightly slurred. Yep, things were not good. Obviously, Callen wanted to be sure that Sam understood that he was okay enough. Didn't want him to worry.

The hell. He _was_ worried, but two could play that game. He gave G a tight smile, meant to humor him, but not excuse the situation. He commented on the only real thing he could. "You used the Hydroxyl-C."

Callen raised his eyebrows, attempting to draw strength from somewhere, but his voice was weaker than usual, and Sam felt the worry all over again. "Worked like a charm."

Sam let his concern spread across his face. He knelt down next G and examined him a little better. It looked like Callen had given himself the injection twice. He hadn't been clean about it. There was going to be a bruise in the next several days. "What happened?" He asked, lowly.

G took a few moments to gather his thoughts, then he said simply, "I got made. Fryman is the one behind all this."

Sam nodded. He tried to imagine what it must have been like for G to realize that he wasn't going to be able to escape. Instantly, Sam felt guilty. He should have insisted on being G's backup. "How much did they give you?"

His partner looked away from him and at the door. "Are we alone?"

Why something as trivial as that would mean anything to Callen, Sam didn't know, but he answered regardless, "Currently. Kensi and Deeks are searching nearby warehouses. They'll be over soon." At Callen's dropping of some of his fake strength, Sam warned him, "Don't do this, G. Shoot straight with me. How much did they give you?"

Callen's eyes tracked back and forth as he tried to remember. Shivers interrupted him, and G tensed, shoulders and back trying to curl himself together, before weakness stopped him. It took another few seconds, G fighting how miserable he felt, before he answered. "About a tablespoon? In a cup of water?"

Sam inhaled silently. That was a lot of cyanide. He needed to get Callen checked out ASAP. Callen might be needing more of the antidote, or myriad of other things. Things that Sam couldn't help him with. Not here, anyway. "How do you feel?"

"I'm alive."

The ex-SEAL gave the smaller man a look. "Yes, you are. But, you sure don't look like you feel too hot."

Instead of answering the comment, an interesting look crossed Callen's features. It was a cross between fear and confusion, mixed with a cemented surety. "One a.m., Sam. We have until one a.m. to find Fryman."

Sam was slightly taken aback. Callen was off. He needed to get him checked out sooner than later. Sam pulled out his cell phone and began texting Eric, Nell, Kensi and Deeks: _I have eyes on Callen. _At the same time, he asked Callen, "I don't suppose you know _where_ they're planning to put the cyanide in the water?"

Callen gave him an extremely weak negative shake of his head. "Didn't say."

Sam reached behind him to put away his gun, then reach over to pick up the syringe off the hard floor. He was relieved to see that G had emptied it appropriately.

G asked weakly, "What time is it?"

"Nearly eight-forty-five."

G fell silent, shivering again.

Sam examined the huge needle on the syringe and then looked at Callen's arm, the blood still barely dripping. A terrible thought darted through his mind. What if Callen _hadn't_ actually gotten the antidote into his vein? Sam put the syringe down and moved closer to his partner, putting out a hand. "G, your arm."

Callen tried to present his arm to Sam. Not moving it more than a millimeter, he grimaced and quit attempting to move. "Knock yourself out." G muttered, obviously distraught that he couldn't budge an inch and trying hard not to care.

Sam frowned as he picked up Callen's arm carefully, examining the injection site. "You remember what Hetty said, right?"

G clenched his jaw, but offered nothing.

Sam saw the indications that the antidote had been administered properly, and let go of his earlier concern. Putting down Callen's arm, he backed up the ten inches that would move him to the bare minimum distance G preferred when he was in Mother Hen Mode. "G, she said if the injection was empty—"

"'You go straight to the hospital, do not pass 'Go,' or collect the proverbial two-hundred dollars.' I get it, Sam." G brought his tired eyes up to meet Sam's, a weak protesting look straining to find its place.

Sam shook his head, not wanting his partner to get his way. "G, if we don't go straight to the hospital, you're stuck with Hetty doing the preliminary blood tests—"

"Stop it, Sam." Callen said as harshly as he could muster with how weak he was. "The city dies at one a.m. if we don't find Fryman. _No_ hospital."

Sam sighed, knowing that this argument wouldn't end until he saw his partner's point of view. G would make sure of that. And Hetty would make sure that G was truly okay. "Okay. I'll get Deeks. We'll get you to the car."

Callen stilled and gave him a look. It was the stony look that refused to look weak in front of anyone. He didn't want help.

Sam read the look as well as he read any of his partner's myriad of looks. "G, you can't move. What do you want me to do?" Sam asked him, frustrated.

"Get creative." Was all Callen suggested.

"Without the kids?"

G raised an eyebrow tiredly, indicating an affirmative.

Again, Sam let out a sigh, this one bigger. "Fine. I'll get you out of this round, but if you can't walk into the Mission on your own, you're going to have to get over it. And if Hetty tells me to, I'm dragging your butt to the hospital, no questions asked." At Callen's understanding slight nod, Sam grumbled gently, "You owe me big for this."

Sam dug his handcuffs out of his back pocket.

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

Kensi and Deeks had just joined up and started walking towards the building where they knew Sam had found Callen. Just then, Sam came out of the building, carrying a handcuffed G Callen over his shoulder.

Kensi and Deeks hastened their steps to join them.

"Sam! What happened to Callen?!" Kensi asked, her and Deeks fearing the worst, but thrown off as to why Callen was handcuffed, his arms behind his back.

"Nothing getting checked out won't cure." Sam said with a huff. He headed for his Challenger without slowing or even looking at them. He seemed frustrated to the core of his huge, towering being.

As Sam passed Kensi and Deeks, Callen, dangling against Sam's back, turned his head slightly and in muffled monotone said, "Help, or I shoot you both."

Kensi and Deeks took a giant step backwards together as one. Kensi stuffed her hands in her back pockets, and Deeks stuffed his in his front ones. They didn't dare mess with Sam on a mission, not even under threat from their team leader. Self-preservation came first.

"Both of you, get in your vehicle. _Now_." Sam barked.

Kensi and Deeks slowly started going towards Kensi's SUV, when Kensi asked, "Uh… Hospital?"

Sam was opening the Challenger's passenger-side door, still carrying G as if he weighed nothing. "Hetty. Now _move_!"

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

Safely inside his partner's vehicle, Deeks put on his seatbelt, commenting, "Well, at least Callen's okay."

"Don't think he's okay." Kensi murmured, starting her vehicle.

Marty looked at his partner dubiously. "What? Why? What makes you say that?"

She tore her gaze away from watching Sam plunk Callen into the Challenger to give Deeks a look. "You're not shot, are you?"

"Uh, no."

"Have you ever seen Callen escape Sam's handcuffs?"

"No…" Marty blinked to the side and then looked back at her.

"Two point seven five seconds. Ever see Callen steal Sam's gun?"

"Uh, no?"

"Four seconds even, on a good day." Kensi glanced ahead, watching Sam get into his Challenger, and then returned her eyes to Marty's disbelieving look. "What? It's some pickpocketing thing he does. Only seen it once… Ever seen Sam try to pick Callen up?"

"Definitely no."

"One point three second flight reaction time."

"So…?"

"You and I are unscathed and Callen wasn't fighting to get away from Sam. Something's up."

Deeks remained silent, thinking over his partner's words as she began following Sam's car back to Headquarters. He wondered if he should be more concerned about Callen's state. Then, something else occurred to him.

"Hey, do you have me figured out like that?"

Kensi didn't look away from the road. "Maybe."

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

They were fifteen minutes away from arriving at the Mission. Sam had taken the fastest shake-possible-tails route. At the stoplights, Sam had texted Hetty directly, letting her know that yes, the Hydroxyl-C had been utilized, and no, they weren't headed for the hospital. She had responded better than Sam had guessed she would, so he stopped worrying that he might somehow get reamed for not following her instructions to the letter.

During the driving time, Sam had expected his partner to pass out. Instead, Callen had worked on gaining weak movement in his arms, sans the handcuffs. Sam allowed him to do whatever he wished, but was surprised that G was staying so quiet. It was a good indication that his partner wasn't feeling well. The hand-and-lower-arm movements that Callen was doing for several long minutes were strange with him not speaking.

G finally brought his free hand up to rub his face, and commented quietly, "You hit me in the face."

Sam had known that this was going to come up eventually, since part of the 'infiltrating the bad guys' had included them going head-to-head in front of a crowd. "I soft-tapped you in the face." Sam corrected in a mutter, somewhat pleased that G was remembering things clearly.

"Made my nose bleed." Callen's said matter-of-fact.

Taking his eyes off the road, Sam gave him a look in the setting sunlight. "Don't give me that. You were trying not to laugh when you tackled me."

Callen shrugged and lowered his hand. "How often do I get to tackle you?"

"Apparently not enough." Sam huffed, feigning disappointment. "That was the weakest tackle I've taken in my life."

"Says the man who's built like a train. I totally dropped you."

"Says the man who can barely move. I fell back for you. Cushioned your fall."

"No, you didn't. I felt you push back."

"Hence the cushioning!"

G waited a beat. "I hope you realize I could've hurt you."

"I hope you realize that Hetty has an IV waiting for you."

Sam and G traded a look.

They both fell silent, Sam wearing a smirk and G leaning back in the seat and closing his eyes.

It wasn't another five minutes before Sam could tell G was catnapping. His partner's breathing had slowed, finally, and occasionally he would twitch.

Sam had them about two turns away from Headquarters when Callen took in a breath, still sleeping, and whispered something. The ex-SEAL wasn't certain, but it sounded an awful lot like G had just said 'Alex'.

Sam frowned.

Might be something. Might be nothing. Either way, worry grew in the pit of his stomach.

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

It was his worst nightmare.

Trapped into letting a worried Hetty use a needle on him.

Apparently, the threats of making him undergo a blood test were absolutely valid. She was waiting for him when Sam got him through the front door. (Thankfully, not being carried.) She pointed Sam toward the sitting area.

"Put him in the arm chair, Mr. Hanna." She ordered, walking briskly over to the area, where she had her medical bag standing by and a blood-drawing kit. (G was relieved he didn't see a sign of the IV that Sam had mentioned in the car. The Big Guy had just been trying to get under his skin.)

Sinking down into the arm chair with Sam's help, G tried not to exhale with how good it felt to sit down. It had been an honest-to-goodness stupid struggle to get his legs to hold up any portion of his weight and get his feet to move in the right direction. He'd done it with Sam's assistance, but just barely. Sam, himself, was probably about to tell Hetty that G needed to be at the hospital. At least the kids hadn't come in from parking their SUV yet. They'd seen nothing. If G was lucky, Sam might feel like running interference. He hated needles. And this was Hetty. No one needed to see what was about to happen.

_Just in case._

Hetty stepped into his eyesight. She bent towards him at the waist, and peered at him through her black-rimmed glasses. "Why on God's green earth don't you ever listen to me, Mr. Callen?"

G went through three possible replies and retorts to her question, but decided each of them were too lame to back his position, currently. The answer that did escape him was equally lame, but had a hint of appealing to it, "The city, Hetty."

Hetty pressed her lips together, straightened, and began getting the syringe ready to take his blood.

Callen wanted to close his eyes and not watch, but he was worried he might fall off to sleep. The catnap in the car had helped his headache slightly, but hadn't touched the level of tired he was. He glanced to find Sam. And he did. His partner was getting Deeks and Kensi over to the Bullpen, and obviously briefing them. Deeks stayed for just a few moments, before heading up to Ops. Kensi glanced at Callen, and when their eyes met, she gave him a sympathetic look, before pulling away to pay attention to Sam.

Beside him, still preparing, Hetty said quietly, "You know that the hospital has people who are much better at this than I am."

G didn't hesitate to reply, bringing his blue eyes up to gaze at her. "But I trust you."

Hetty paused for a moment, glancing over at him, a conceding look in her dark eyes. Then, she continued by putting on some medical-grade rubber gloves. "Which arm did you use to administer the Hydroxyl-C?"

"Left."

"Very well. I'll use your right." Holding a rubber tie and alcohol swab, Hetty came over to his right side.

Callen placed the crook of his arm over the armrest, and turned it so she could get to his veins easily. He gritted his teeth when he realized that the tremors hadn't died down. He could see himself shaking. This was going to hurt.

Hetty examined his veins, touching his arm with her free hand. She said calmly, "Mr. Callen, I need you to be still."

Frustration washed over Callen. "I _am_ being still!"

"I see." Hetty straightened, and waved a gloved hand at Sam and Kensi. "Let's try this with you lying down then."

"Hetty, I don't have time to be lying down! Just do what you have to do and let me go." G kept the anger out of his voice, but let the urgency fill it. The last thing he wanted to do was lie down, pass out, or get pulled from this case, and that's what it felt like the longer he was still.

Hetty trained a look on him. "What I have to do will decimate your arm veins and possibly kill you at the intensity you're shaking."

Callen sat up, bringing his arm back to his lap. "Forget the blood test. If I don't figure out where Fryman is, it won't matter."

Hetty froze. Her look grew hard.

Callen realized he'd said something that crossed the line.

Sam and Kensi came over as Hetty had motioned them to.

Wanting to keep her thoughts exclusively for her Team Leader, Hetty switched to Russian, and took a step toward him, not breaking eye contact. "Malen'kiye veshchi voprosu. Bol'shiye veshchi prikhodyat i ukhodyat. My adaptiruyem. My otregulirovat'. My dvigat'sya dal'she. Pravda ostayetsya. Malen'kiye veshchi voprosu." (Small things matter. Big things come and go. We adapt. We adjust. We move on. The truth remains. Small things matter.)

Callen replied, frustrated, "V teni smerti? Nomer Nikogda." (In the shadow of death? No. Never.)

"Smert' nevinnykh?" (Death of innocents?) Hetty raised her chin, wanting him to clarify.

"Smert' mnogikh." (The death of many.)

"Malen'kiye veshchi vse yeshche imeyut znacheniye. Vashe serdtse myagkoye, moy mal'chik. Bez serdtsa, bez emotsiy, chto ya prava." (Small things still matter. Your heart is soft, my boy. Without heart, without emotion, I am right.)

Callen narrowed his eyes at her, breathing hard, "YA ne emotsional'nyy. Poterya zhizni na etoy shkale budet shram Ameriki." (I'm not emotional. Loss of life on this scale will scar America.)

"Lyudi poluchayut shramy, moy mal'chik. Mozhet byt', vy dumayete o chuzhom budushchem?" (People get scars, my boy. Perhaps you are thinking of another's future?) Hetty held up a gloved hand and narrowed her eyes. "Protiv etoy logiki, nebol'shiye veshchi vse yeshche imeyet znacheniya. Poka my ne umirayem, my budem deystvovat', kak budto my zhivy i zdorovy." (Against that logic, small things still matter. Until we are dead, we act as if alive and well.)

Callen frowned.

Hetty lowered her hand and placed it on Callen's knee. "Besstrashnyy." (Fearless.)

Callen's jaw worked. He finally broke eye-contact and looked away.

Hetty straightened and looked at Sam and Kensi, who had stopped a few feet away, recognizing the tense air in their exchange.

"Mr. Hanna, please get your partner onto that couch. Miss Blye, please remove the back cushions. I need Mr. Callen on his back, and his arm at this side."

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

Hetty had told them all. Callen had to rest quietly for one hour, then she would re-evaluate him. She had made it clear, G was to be left alone as much as possible. _"That means you, Mr. Hanna."_

Sam had set up in the Bullpen, moving to Deeks' desk and sitting at the short end so he could keep an eye on his partner. Deeks hadn't protested when he saw, he'd just gone to check on the Armory during the lull. Kensi had skittered off for a quick snack.

No one but Sam had seen when Hetty returned to where G was lying on the couch and removed the Coban wrap from his arm where she had drawn his blood. G hadn't stirred. That was probably why Hetty had finished by covering him with the nearby throw.

Sam had dutifully returned his gaze to his computer screen, allowing Hetty to return to her workspace unwatched. When he glanced back at his partner, he saw Callen shift positions. G wasn't sleeping. He was faking. Well, partly. Sam decided to let him get away with it since he was somewhat trying to be still and rest.

A few long minutes later, Deeks had emerged from the opposite direction, moving quietly, his hands clasped together like he did when he was being thoughtful.

Sam was surprised to see Deeks going into the area where Callen was. It looked like he was going to ask his Team Leader something…

Without opening his eyes, G said lowly, "Keep walking, Deeks."

Sam barely heard the words. He sat back in his chair, watching Marty meekly leave the area and come towards the Bullpen. A quick glance proved that Hetty hadn't heard anything. At least, overtly. G had probably sounded stern to the Detective, but to Sam, he sounded furious with the situation. Talk about needing a nap.

Marty came over to where Sam sat at the desk, looking confused.

Sam, taking pity, kept his voice quiet and explained, "He's just mad. It isn't you."

"Are you sure?" Deeks asked, also keeping his voice down.

"Yeah. It's the cyanide. And the needles. And that kid, Alex."

"Oh… So, not me?"

Sam let out a half-laugh, surprised that Deeks even cared. "Positive."

Deeks sighed and moved to sit down at Sam's desk. Then he asked quietly, "Is he going to be able to help us scramble if we do locate Fryman?"

Sam remained silent, looking over at his partner's resting form. He tilted his head, then met eyes with Marty.

Nodding, Deeks said softly. "Got it."

No one knew, but they all hoped so.

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

After the prescribed hour of being still, Callen slowly got himself up into the seated position on the couch. The tremors were tolerable now, his chest had relaxed, and the headache was dissipating somewhat. If he managed to save the city, a night's worth of catnapping would cure the remaining symptoms, he was positive. If he didn't… Well, he'd have more than a headache to worry about.

He exhaled quietly and slowly, looking around the lower floor. His team was nowhere in sight. A small pang of distress went through him. Surely they didn't get a lead and leave him behind…

Just then, Hetty came from the recesses of her office, holding a steaming cup and pristine saucer in her hands. She gracefully walked over to where Callen sat on the couch, and sat herself in front of him on the low, wooden, coffee table.

Callen watched her settle. He picked up quickly that she was proud of the cup she was holding, and he had a feeling it wasn't for her. He didn't know whether to be scared or honored, or a mixture of the two. He could smell it from where she sat. Herbal-spice? Sorta?

"What's this?"

She smiled. "Stout, isn't it? It's a special medicinal tea that I keep stocked for such an occasion."

Incredulous, G asked, "The occasion that one of your agents gets poisoned?"

She trained her eyes on him. "The occasion that someone is weak in a time when they need strength."

Callen looked from her, to the tea, and back to her. It was obvious he wasn't dodging this one. Better to go along with it. He lifted his still-shaky hands to attempt to take the cup and saucer, but she leaned away from him.

"You know the rules, Mr. Callen."

It took a few long moments, but G finally caught what she was getting at. "You mean that one you told me about your china? Before Macy? Hetty."

"Strict rules are necessary for the health of one's china."

G narrowed his eyes. "I'm not going to break your china, Hetty. Even mid-seizure, I wouldn't dare."

"Drink your tea, Mr. Callen." She chided, holding the cream-colored, porcelain cup up for him to take a sip.

She had it to his lips before he could pull away or protest in another way. He swallowed a very warm slurp of tea and pulled back. The tea tasted good, but he didn't like the help. Correction: he _detested_ the help.

"Don't worry. I turned the video cameras off."

Callen froze and glared at her, which she surreptitiously ignored, pretending to be an old woman that didn't notice, her eyes looking down at the tea.

The Special Agent searched her face, thinking up several devious ways of stonewalling his clever Boss in the future to get even for this serious infraction on personal space and ego limits. After coming up with seven or so good ideas, and letting several seconds pass by, he exhaled quietly.

The small woman took the sound as a sign she'd won, and raised her eyes, feigning innocence. "Sip." She said, almost cheerfully.

Callen did, but he gave her the most glowering look his blue eyes could muster.

~ |\| C | $ L A ~

Callen had managed to get cleared by Hetty after the tea incident. She had promised that he would be going by the hospital first thing in the morning to have more blood drawn. G hadn't been very impressed, seeing how his arms were already starting to get bruised from his earlier needle encounters. But he had agreed to it; there was too much at stake for him to be on the sidelines.

Her parting comment had as enigmatic as ever, "Brave hearts fight finite purity, Mr. Callen. Finite purity wins only where there is lack of fearlessness."

Callen had stood still for a moment, trying to grasp what she was saying. He felt certain that she was wishing him good luck and telling him to catch the bad guys at the same time. Either that, or she was encouraging him to be fearless as a person… He finally tilted his head and slowly went to find his team.

He ran into Deeks as he was passing by the Armory.

"Callen!" Deeks looked surprised. His eyes noticed that Callen was being cautious as he moved around; always being arm's-length from the wall.

He was opening his mouth to ask the one question G didn't want to hear, so G spoke first, "Where's Sam?"

Marty closed his mouth and jerked his thumb towards the Armory. "Preparing for battle."

Callen tilted his head and headed in that direction. "Classic." He murmured as he passed the blonde.

"Which, the Navy SEAL or the description?"

"Both."

Callen opened the door to the Armory, finding Kensi and Sam working at one table, cleaning and loading guns. Many, many guns. He moved into the room, sensing more than knowing that Deeks was hovering behind him, obviously using his detective skills to see how bad his team leader really was. G focused on Sam so he wouldn't spin around and give the death-glare to the blonde. "Report." He commanded, heading to the furthest table, ready to prepare his own guns. Somehow.

Kensi answered first as she eyed Callen gathering his backup weapon from the wall, Deeks not hesitating to move to where his firearms waited at the far table, where Callen joined him. "We secured the warehouse and the cyanide they left behind. There was evidence on the warehouse's servers of plans for this day. Eric and Nell even have proof that they were attempting to get a few others involved."

Callen listened as he checked his gun at the basic level. He felt Deeks' gaze on him, and he didn't want to give the man any reason to comment or ask about his state. Luckily, his clip-releasing, gun-inspecting motions went smooth enough. When he started loading his ammo, he realized this wasn't going to be pretty. He worked hard not to glare at his fingers when they found the process of picking up bullets and putting them in the clip almost impossible. It was humiliating. He wasn't taking that much time at it, but, for a man who could load his gun in thirteen seconds, it was an eternity of shaky hands and protesting fingers.

He was grateful that Sam was speaking now. "Ops is monitoring all water sensors and access points to underground utilities. And GWP is ready to cut off the water supply at a moment's notice."

"We've got local law enforcement and Kaleidoscope looking for 'em." Deeks reported. Trying to be reassuring to the tension they all felt, he added, "Eventually they're going to have to show themselves."

It finally happened: Callen's hands seized and he lost the grip on the bullet he was loading _and_ the clip. He managed to keep the clip from slamming to the table, but it was loud and he had to stop the bullet from leaving him. He took a frustrated breath. He put his disloyal hands palm-down on the table. Everything was adding up and at this moment, and he felt it. _Damn it._

Of all of his concerned team, he didn't expect Kensi to be the one to speak first, but he extended extra grace to her since she didn't add any true worry to her tone. "Callen, you sure you don't want to guide us from Ops?"

G didn't look up. He kept his hands on the table and leaned against them, hiding the last bits of the tremors. "I'm fine."

He expected Sam to comment next, since he could feel the weight of the Big Guy's eyes on him. Sam had made it clear already. Sam would feel better if Callen sat this one out. His typical reaction time was shot. The only thing that had managed to return after the nap (and unmentionable tea-time) was his strength level. He guessed he was back up to at least seventy percent normal strength.

G was surprised and even further irritated when the next one to comment was Detective Marty Deeks, "Yeah? 'Cause a couple of hours ago you could barely move."

_Great, three against one. _Callen turned and sent the strongest, steadiest look he could zeroing into Deeks' gaze. A challenge. _I'm still strong enough to be "Alpha," Deeks. _"You want to arm wrestle?"

Marty seemed to catch in that moment that the leadership traits were back. The weakness the man had perceived earlier wasn't going to be able to play against this level of determination. Deeks was instantly back to a more normal level of unconcerned. Almost congratulating in his tone of voice, Marty told G, "Fair enough."

Callen noted that Marty had leaned back a half-an-inch and had a small satisfied smile on his face. Sam and Kensi probably both had a similar look on their faces. Hope grew that they would all drop it. He didn't want to waste anymore strength on convincing his Team he was fine.

He was further saved by Nell hurrying into the room with an update.

They had found them.

All that was left was to storm in and take Fryman and his gang down, before they got a chance to put cyanide in the water system of Los Angeles.

As he led his Team out to the vehicles, he breathed in the night air. He hoped they had what it'd take to stop the bad guys, same as always.

Callen was confident in each of them. And he was confident in their training. No matter what they encountered tonight, they were what Hetty had said to him in Russian. And that, was the ultimate confidence that he held.

_Besstrashnyy._

_Fearless._


End file.
